One Left Behind, INC Cut
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: Incomplete. Helen finds Connor sitting alone at a bar. She does bad things to him. Crappiest summary I've ever done. Noncon, angst, whumpage.


Nicholas: Okay, this was part of a longer story that I haven't finished yet and don't know if I'll ever finish, but I felt like posting it just cause :P. It's noncon and I had the intent to make it later into a Nick/Connor fic because that makes me smile, maybe throw Stephen in there because of like baggage or something, but it refuses to be written. So here's just this. Helen is a bitch. Also, in the verse with Primeval Denial on LJ. Everyone is alive except Tom...because I don't like Tom...he's an idiot...and deserved to be dodo food.

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? That is all them

Rating: M...sexual situations, language, rape/noncon, vague mentions of past infidelity, whumped!Connor.

* * *

After about the third shot, Connor was more than a little worse for wear. Though, it wasn't exactly as if any of his friends would know that as they had all gone by now, opting to do other, more enjoyable things. Danny had left with Sarah and Stephen in tow and of course Ryan following behind like a frustrated father; and for some reason, Claudia had taken Jenny back to her flat. When Abby took Becker by the arm and demanded that he drive her home without waiting for Connor, he tried not to let it bug him. The final straw had been Nick. Left alone in a bar with his young, geeky student must have just been too awkward for him because he didn't even try to mask his escape as anything other than just that. No one really liked to be around Connor any more than they really had to. Just ask Lester.

Resting his head on the bar counter, he sighed helplessly and tried to let the liquor do its work. He wanted to get absolutely pissed before he went back to Abby's flat. Then, it could just be so much easier to ignore the way she'd be bitching at him for getting so hammered. His life was just so weird sometimes. Not that it was bad—he didn't want to end it all or something—there were times when he was quite happy. Times when Lester didn't snark at him every five minutes and Stephen didn't completely outshine him, and when he managed to snag an approving grin from the military personnel and Danny told him that he actually did something right that didn't have anything to do with computers. These times weren't really "few and far between," they just tended to fade away too quickly.

Connor thrived on attention and contact with other people. He wouldn't be able to survive if he was left alone with his computer 24/7, contrary to popular belief. Like every other sane being on the planet, he needed to be near people that he trusted, and he needed to be able to trust and be near people. The whole situation at the ARC was just brilliant like that, giving him friends and allies so that he felt he'd never be alone. Just…sometimes…his friends didn't seem to know that they were his friends…that they were supposed to act like it too. When they asked if he was good finding his own way home, they were supposed to know that him saying yes was actually him saying "I appreciate your company and wish you wouldn't leave, but I won't hold you down or anything." Because he's nice, damn it.

"And this is where being nice gets you," he muttered to himself, dismal in his self-pity.

"I think you could stand to be more assertive," said a voice, a woman's.

Immediately, Connor sat up. He thought—hoped—that maybe Abby was back to give him a ride, but he was mistaken. As soon as his head stopped spinning from the sudden movement, he was staring straight at a dead woman. "Helen…" His throat was dry and he was feeling way too sober for three shots.

"Hi, Connor," she said, light, happy smile on her face, "Where has everyone gone?"

That sounded like a rhetorical question. Like in high school, bullies asked "Don't you have any friends?" even though they already knew the answer and were just trying to rub in the fact that no, he didn't. Putting on his game face, he swore to himself that he wouldn't fall for whatever manipulation Helen tried on him. "I told them I wanted some time by myself," he stated, trying to believe it so that she would too.

By her eerie grin, she didn't. "Let me buy you a drink," she insisted, still sounding quite kind, if a little sure of herself.

"No thanks." Good job, he felt he deserved a pat on the back because he had to admit that another drink seemed like exactly the thing he needed right then. "What are you doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to see you?"

That was harsh because…no he wouldn't. Not after Caroline. He was reluctant to give any woman the benefit of the doubt if she tried to say she was attracted to him, or interested him, or even if she just thought he looked cute. His self-esteem was shot to tiny pieces. Turning away, he picked up his coat and started to put it on, as deliberately as possible. Time to go home anyway.

"Wait," she said, gripping his arm tight, pulling him back a bit roughly. "Is there something I'm not doing right? I haven't spoken to anyone on friendly terms in such a long time."

"We're not friends, Helen," he snapped, proud that he managed to seem so forceful even with her long, sharp nails digging into his arm. "I gotta—"

"I thought it was kind of cruel of them, just leaving you behind like that."

He took a deep breath and told himself that he couldn't hit her—that just wouldn't be right. Guys didn't hit girls, it was a rule. "You don't know—"

"You know that you can use the company just as much as I can. You should never drink alone and that lot oughta know better than just to sod off without taking you with them. I thought I taught Nick better than that."

"Before or after you fucked Stephen?"

At that, her lips pursed. Connor was a bit ecstatic to have broken that cool, nonchalant persona. Helen Cutter was just human after all; she wasn't anything to be frightened of. Well, she wasn't worth more fear than he'd assign to a velociraptor, at least—and he'd faced off against a couple of those before. The grasp on his arm, however, had started to tighten, and she really didn't look this strong.

"Sit down," she snapped, "One drink, and that's it. That's all I ask."

Carefully, he regarded her and tried to weed out her intentions from that lying, evil, kind gaze. His head was muddled, alcohol still very much present in his system. Before he knew what he was doing, he sat back down and knocked back the shot of whiskey that she handed to him. God, when Connor made mistakes, he really _made mistakes._

* * *

Judging by the light coming in through those silly, lacey curtains, it was about midday when he finally woke up. He was sticky with sweat and everything felt heavy when he turned over onto his back. His head was swimming so much that he thought he might throw up if it didn't calm down. Seriously, he might have been dying if it felt any worse. And that warm body pressed up against his just wasn't helping matters.

"Wait a—what the hell!" Startled, he pushed himself away, practically flying off the mattress before Helen grabbed his wrists and pulled him back. "Let go of me!"

"Easy, Connor," she purred, leaning over him with both of his wrists easily secured in one tight grasp. With her other hand, she stroked gentle fingers down his face. "You have to calm down or you just might choke on your own vomit."

And yeah, Connor may have been dull some times, but he knew a threat when he heard one. She knew exactly how he was feeling and what the negative reactions would be because she did this to him. Whatever she'd slipped into his drink—why the hell had he taken it in the first place?—made his body warm and sluggish, and once the adrenaline started to fade and his breathing softened again, his brain function started to feel the same. Closing his eyes against the light, he took in deep gulps of air and tried to clear his mind.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want you to stop struggling before I have to do something drastic. Is that understood?"

Anger flared—not like wildfire, in fact, not very powerful at all—in his chest, but he couldn't really react when he tried. What the hell was he on? The sensation made him nervous, out of control and kind of helpless. He didn't like it. This wasn't right—Helen wasn't trustworthy. He shouldn't be so vulnerable around her, she was the type of woman to use that against him. Swallowing a buildup of saliva on his tongue, he glared at him. "What do you want?" he repeated.

Eyes narrowing, she pulled his arms towards the head board and slipped a pair of old hand cuffs from one of the many pockets of her cargo pants. "Is it so hard to believe that I just want you?" Connor couldn't wrench his wrists free before _click, click, click_, and he was trapped—bound and drugged, helpless beneath her.

"Get off me," he demanded, though to be completely honest, it came out more like a plea.

It quickly occurred to him that he wasn't wearing clothes. Once he registered that his chest was bear, he looked down to see that all he had on was his shorts. And then, Helen took those as well. Squirming awkwardly, he tried to pull his legs up or anything to cover his nakedness because his hands were out of commission. She just grabbed his ankles and held him out flat. "Stop it, Helen!" he said, a bit too desperate to hide his fear. "What are you doing?"

Abruptly, she put a hand over his mouth. "Shhh," she hissed. "You really are quite well endowed, you know." When he felt her fingers ghost over his penis, he jumped, startled, and tried in vain to squirm away. At the back of his mind, he knew that he was already half-hard, despite the _not-arousing _situation. "I wonder if you aren't bigger than Stephen when you're fully erect. Why don't we find out?" His face turned bright red with shame because, as she was stroking him, he felt himself get hard.


End file.
